‘OK, I’ve said it was an accident. But the real accident – or more properly, the tragedy – was that Darcy Clarke and Harry Keogh were friends, and that they’d had a lot of contact with one another. It’s as simple as that. Harry’s own “accident” happened to him out in the Greek islands, or more likely in Romania, just a few weeks ago. Since when it’s taken him over completely. And conceivably unknown to Darcy – and just conceivably unknown or unrealized even by the Necroscope himself – the thing, disease, contagion, whatever and however you think of it, somehow passed between them. That’s the way we see it, anyway.
‘But the fact is that Darcy had a very bad case of mind-smog, and he’d lost his guardian angel, the talent which had kept him secure through everything the Branch has thrown at him all these years. As for Darcy working with him or for Harry: well, we knew that he’d been passing information, even before we knew for sure that he’d been changed. Just when these changes occurred isn’t easy to tell. They might have been in the wind for some time, but they came to light just last night. For that was when Harry visited Darcy at home. He didn’t stay long but after he left . . . then Darcy had mind-smog.
‘So that’s what I meant when I said Darcy had been changed. When he died . . . he just wasn’t Darcy Clarke any more, not the one we all knew. And now he isn’t anyone. But more importantly, he isn’t, and can never be, a threat to the Branch or to the world.
‘Harry Keogh very definitely is, however, and so are the people we believe he’s already contaminated. There are at least two of these: a young girl called Penny Sanderson, and … the telepath we knew as Trevor Jordan.’ Again he held up his hand. ‘Yes, I know, Trevor was my friend, too. And hell, he was also dead! But he isn’t any more. Harry Keogh has resurrected both of these people from their ashes – which in itself must surely confirm what they’ve become. Undead!
‘So where does all of this leave us? Plainly, it leaves us with a fight on our hands, and one which will take all the skills and efforts of every last one of us. Because if we don’t win this one, then there won’t be a last one of us! Now here’s how we go about it: as of tonight the Sanderson girl goes under covert surveillance. We’re going to leave that to Special Branch. No espers to be involved at this stage. Why? Because Harry Keogh or Jordan would pick up on our people like they were radioactive. So it’s the dear old British Bobby who covers for us, but without really knowing what it’s all about. Just another stakeout as far as they’re concerned. Which should be safe enough, for as far as we know the girl’s had no contact with Jordan or the Necroscope since Harry . . . well, since he did whatever he did to bring her back. So we just let the common or garden Law keep an eye on her until it’s time, then call them off, and finally move in. By which time we’ll know how we’re going to deal with her.
‘Incidentally, if I seem cold-blooded about this, it’s because that’s how it has to be. I’m the only one who’s left of the old crowd, which means I’m the only one who knows what hell is like. I saw it during the Bodescu case, and out in the Greek islands. Anyone who thinks I’m exaggerating hasn’t read the Keogh files or Darcy Clarke’s report on the Greek thing. And if any one of you really hasn’t read those items, then he bloody well better had, and now!
‘OK, so as of tonight we’ll have the girl covered, and she’ll stay that way until we’re all set. But she’s small fry and the big fish – the sharks – are still cruising. They’re the ones we have to worry about. But how much do we have to worry about them? Let’s talk about Jordan.